The Schematics of Fatherhood
by TwoMoon'sLite
Summary: John hadn't planned on becoming a father. Sherlock hadn't either. So naturally, they adopted. Neither could anticipate the effects that would ring throughout London, reaching even Mycroft. The girl named Emelia would change the game. She would open hearts and shut mouths. Walk along with the Holmes-Watsons as they live life as the Detective, his Doctor, and their Photographer.
1. (Be)coming Holmes

**HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLOOOOOOOOOO~~~~~~~**  
**I'm back! With Johnlock!**

**Please review this because I need to know if it's good. Also, please pardon the horrible grammar.**

**Love y'all!**

**Oh and thanks to my favorite beta reader, littleblackneko . (Love ya!)**

_**DISCLAIMER:**__** I OWN NOTHING! Not even the plot. BBC owns all this stuff. Except Em. :) She's mine.**_

* * *

Emelia Golbernetti was walking down the not-so-busy London street. Her clearly dyed blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, which allowed a clear view of her gray-green eyes. She took a sip of the coffee she was carrying and wiped her mouth on the long sleeve of her black shirt and stuck her hand into her jean pocket. She watched her black gym shoes carefully, making sure she never stepped on a crack. She took another sip of coffee and listened to the conversations around her.

She was lost in the London sounds until she felt a tap on her shoulder. She faced the man who had summoned her attention. He was middle-aged, thirty at most. He had blonde hair much like hers, and bright blue eyes.

"Yes?" She asked.

"Sorry to bother you ma'am. But what is your opinion of Scotland Yard these days?"

She smirked and responded jauntily, "They wouldn't know evidence if danced and held a neon sign." Emelia took another sip of her coffee.

The man turned to a companion she just now noticed. He was very tall, and skinny, but not anorexic-looking. He had a dirty mop of curls and the same colored eyes as she.

"See Sherlock, not everyone thinks the Yard is so great." Sherlock, what a peculiar name.

Sherlock looked her up and down. "So not everyone is an Anderson. What are you trying to prove Jawn?"

John sighed and rolled his eyes. He mumbled an apology to Emelia and glared at Sherlock. "Trying to get you to be more positive."

Emelia laughed, causing both men to look at her. "Positive? Everyone is an idiot, and those who aren't are labeled as insane." She finished off her coffee with a frown. She would need more.

Sherlock however, beamed at her. "Jawn, look!" He said happily, bouncing over to Emelia, "A little mind like mine! And she's for adoption!"

Emelia looked at the tall dark man with curiosity. "How'd you know?"

John sighed behind her.

Sherlock launched into an elaborate explanation, that by the state of her clothes he was able to determine her exact place of residence.

"Wow." She was awed.

"I'm sorry," John muttered, pulling Sherlock away.

"For what? That was bloody brilliant!" Emelia took Sherlock's hand and shook it vigorously. "Absolutely brilliant Holmes!"

"How'd you know?" Sherlock asked with a slight upward twitch of the lips.

"With a name like Sherlock, how couldn't I know?"

"John?" Sherlock called over his shoulder.

"Yes?"

"What do you think of becoming a father?"


	2. Doctor, Detective, Photographer

**'Ello lovelies! SO here's the second chap.**

**I love writing this, cuz it means I get to watch season 2 of Sherlock all over! YAY!**

**Again, review replies at the bottom, and please do review. I'd hate for all my hard work to go to waste.**

**DISCLAIMER: I own only Emelia. I don't even own half of what she says. BBC and Mycroft do.**

**Thanks again to my lovely beta, littleblackneko.**

* * *

John and Sherlock helped Emelia move her things into the second bedroom.

Well, John did anyway. Sherlock complained about being bored.

Emelia told him, "to get off his lazy arse and help if you're that bored". John laughed and Sherlock grumbled.

In the end though, the Holmes-Watson family settled in nicely.

* * *

For weeks, Emelia pondered how she would get on a case. She was dying of bordem whenever her dads left on a case.

So far she had missed out on dead speckled lady, geeks who run a comic book website, and other determinitedly "uninteresting" cases. (All of which John had blogged. Sherlock complained again.)

Then it hit her. She grabbed her Canon EOS 5D Mark III 22.3-Megapixel Digital SLR Camera and marched out to the living room.

Standing outside her room, she held the fancy camera (a Welcome-to-the-Family present from Mycroft, unbeknown to her) abover her head and announced officially, "Photographer."

John turned to her and raised at an eyebrow to her triumphant expression.

Sherlock responded with a stern no.

She marched up to him and frowned. The camera made a loud sound as it slammed on the desk. "You hate how the Yard takes pictures. Let me do it."

Shelock looked at John, who sighed. "Emelia, it's danger-"

"Fine."

Emeila threw her arms around Sherlock, then John. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!"

Then she ran back to her room, leaving her camera and two confused men.

* * *

The next case just so happened to be a fun one.

"There was a plane crash in Thistledorf yesturday. Everyone dead." DI Lestraude explained as he led the Detective, Doctor and Photographer to the crime scene.

"Suspected Terrorist Bomb." Sherlock stated. "I do watch the news."

John made a comment about it being boring to Sherlock, but neither Holmes really heard him.

Lestraude continued at the silver car that was the crime scene while Sherlock checked the trunk and Emelia snapped pictures of the man inside, "According to the flight details, this man was checked in onboard. Inside his coat he's got stubs from his boarding pass, napkins from the flight, even the special biscits. Here's his pasport, stamped in Burn Airport. This man should have died in a plane crash in Germany yesturday, but instead he's in a car booth in Sussux."

"Lucky escape." John commented.

"Any ideas?" Emelia asked the taller of her two fathers.

"Eight, so far," the man in question responded. His face crumpled in what Emelia took for confusion and corrected himself. "Okay, four ideas." He examined the pasport and ticket stub. "Maybe two ideas."

* * *

John, naturlly, blogged about it.

Only this time, Sherlock had an issue with it.

Emelia and John were in the living room and Sherlock was doing something with his tobacco ash when Em heard Sherlock say something. She looked up from the pictures she had taken of the crime scene to her fathers.

"No no no don't mention the unsolved ones."

"People want to know you're human." John reasoned.

"Why?"

"Because they're interested." Emelia answered.

"No they're not. Why are they?" Sherlock shot back.

John didn't answer but he did look back at his blog. "Hmm look at that. 1,895."

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock asked.

"I reset that counter last night. This blog has had nearly 2 thousand hits in the last 8 hours. This is your living, Sherlock. Not 240 different types of tobacco ash."

"243." Sherlock and Emelia corrected at the same time.

Sherlock was not pleased and went back to his experiment. John looked at Emelia and she shugged.

* * *

The trio were walking away from another scene, this time in a theatre, when Sherlock asked the most ridiculous question (but not really if you think about it). "So what is is this time? Belly Button Murders?"

"The Naval Treatment" John responded.

Sherlock hummed in acknowledgement.

"Hello, Greg." Emelia chirped as the DI joined then.

"There's a lot of press outside guys, " he informed, ignoring the blonde photographer.

"Well, they won't be interested in us," Sherlock said flatly.

"Yea that was before you were an internet phenomenon," Emelia contradicted.

"Couple of them specifically wanted photographs of you two," Greg informed, causing Sherlock to groan. The DI turned to Emelia. "Sorry, love, they don't know you."

She smiled at him as Sherlock complained. "It's all right, Greg."

They passed a dressing room. "Jawn. " Sherlock said as he ducked inside and returned with two hats. "cover your face with that and walk fast," he instucted, handing the Doctor a hat.

"Still, good for the public image," Lestraude tried to put a positive spin on it, "big case like this."

"I'm a private detective, the last thing I need is a public image." Sherlock said as he led the trio of Holmes-Watsons out the theatre door and into the bright, flashing lights of the press cameras.

* * *

**Saavikam69 : Yes, scanalous, I know. But scince it's Sherlock and they were already living together first, I hope you can pardon it. By lives I think you mean love, so I am glad you love it.**


	3. The Fat Man and the Sheet

**Hiiii! I maded a new chap!**

**This one... God this was so much fun to write. I love Em here. The insults I get to make her say are just... They're Sherlock-ish.**

**As always, please review.**

**DISCLAIMER:**** I own only Emelia and what she says. Well, the stuff she says that isn't from the show. BBC owns this show and Benedict and Martin own the character descriptions. Because I'm discribing them.**

**ALSO: IMPLIED JOHNLOCK! ;) **

**Enjoy, loves!**

* * *

The newspapers exploded.

"Emelia darling, will you help me clean this mess up?" asked Mrs. Hudson.

Emelia got up from the couch, her fathers being upstairs doing...Lord knows what. "Mrs. H, why did only one paper include me? I mean its not like a 5' 8" blonde teen with a Canon EOS 5D Mark III 22.3-Megapixel Digital SLR Camera is hard to miss."

"It'll pass darling. You'll be in the papers soon enough." The elderly woman gave a sigh at the sight over the dining table and opened the fridge.

"Jeeze, Mrs. H. Can you see what died in there?" Emelia joked.

Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes and started to clean out the fridge while Emelia straighted up the desk. The woman made a face at the stench of the fridge and pulled out a bag. "Oh dear. Thumbs." She deposited the bag back.

Just then, a man rounded the corner, jolting both women. "The doors," is all he said before the man fainted onto 221B's kitchen floor.

Mrs. Hudson yelled up to John and Sherlock, while Emelia checked on the unconcious man. "Boys," she yelled,"You've got another one!"

* * *

The man was sat in what Emelia now called the "Sherlock-igation" chair. Sherlock stood infront of him while the male blonde sat on the couch behind him. Emelia went to settle down Mrs. Hudson.

"Tell us from the start. Don't be boring," Sherlock ordered.

In short, the man had been stranded on the side of the road with a broken down car 14 hours earlier. He had spotted a bloke down by a small stream. The man tried to start his car again, with a large boom indicating the car's failure. He got out to check the car and the bloke he had seen earlier was not only gone, but also dead.

* * *

Sherlock made John drive to the scene.

So when Emelia came up from comofrting Mrs. Hudson and making sure the little woman wasn't going to die of a heart attack, Emelia heard Sherlock and John talking from the bottom of the stairs.

"Look this is a six," Sherlock explained, "There's no point in leaving the flat for anything less than a seven. We agreed. Now go back. Show me the grass."

"When did we agree to that?" John asked.

"Yesterday. Stop, closer."

"I wasn't even at home yesturday. I was in Dublin."

Emelia arrived at the top of the stairs. Sherlock was barking orders to his laptop, where John was visible. "What are you doing?" she asked warrily.

"Investigating a crime scene."

Emelia picked at the sheet he was wearing toga-style. "In a sheet?"

"Yes."

She sighed and went to make herself a spot of tea. The doorbell rang. She heard Sherlock yell at someone to shut up. She ignored Sherlock and John's banter until her tea was ready. Then she set it opposite Sherlock's next to the laptop and pulled up a chair. "So how goes it?"

Sherlock ignored her. "Now, show me the car that backfired."

"Right there." John said.

"That's the one that made the noise, yes?" Emelia asked, trying to join into the case.

"Yea. If you're thinking gunshot, there wasn't one. He wasnt killed by a gunshot. He was killed by a single blow to the back of the head by a blunt instrument, which then magically dissappeared. Along with the killer."

"That's got to be an eight at least," Em commented.

"Just a few more minutes, then I want to know more about the driver," the active head investigator told them.

"Oh just forget him," Emelia dissmissed, "He's an idiot. Why else would he think himself a suspect?"

"I think he's a suspect," the investigator countered, making both Holmeses roll their eyes.

"Pass us over," Sherlock commanded.

"Alright, but there is a mute button and I will use it," John warned.

"Up a bit! I'm not talking from down here. Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a crime without a single wintess, why would he then call the police and consult a detective. Fair play?" Sherlock mocked.

"He's trying to be clever. He's over confident."

"Oh Lord now you've done it..." Emelia groaned.

"Did you see him? Morbidly obese, the undisguised helotosis of a single man living on his own, the right sleeve of an internet porn addict, and the brathing pattern of an untreated heart condition. Low self-esteem, tiny IQ, and a limited life expectancy. And you think he's an audatious criminal mastermind?" He turned to the man in question behind him,"Don't worry this is just stupid."

The man was confused to say the least, " What did you say?"

Emelia turned to him for a moment, "Don't waste your IQ points worrying over it," she said with a sweet smile, "You have so few. Wouldn't want you to run out now would we?" She turned her attention back to the webcam.

"Huh, what?" the man asked, clearly unaware of the insults just given to him.

"Go to the stream." Sherlock ordered.

"What's in the stream?" the investigator asked.

"Go and see," Emelia advised.

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson whined, having come upstairs followed by two large men in black suits, "You weren't answering your doorbell."

"His rooms are in the back, get him some clothes," one of them said to the other.

"His are upstairs," Emelia corrected, "Those are mine."

"Who the hell are you?" Sherlock questioned.

"Sorry, Mr. Holmes," the first man said, "You're coming with us." He shut the laptop, cutting off John's image.

"Where you take him, you take me too." Emelia demanded, folding her ams in an attept to look more stubborn.

"Fine, come with us." The other man came down and placed clothes in front of Sherlock. His partner spoke, "Please, Mr. Holmes, where you're going, you'll want to be dressed."

Sherlock got that look on his face that meant he was deducing someone then said, "I know exactly where we're going."

* * *

**IamyourJohntoyourSherlock : Love your name! Also, yes I know how OOC Sherlock is, I couldn't think of a way to get Emelia in the story otherwise. I will eventually go back and re-write it, but probably not until I get more into the story. You might have to wait 'till the story goes Post-Fall.**

**What? That's it? ONE REVIEW? **

**Fandom, you have let me down...**

**~TwoMoon'sLite!~**


	4. Pantsless in the Palace

**Two chapters in one night! ****_MAN_**** I am on a ROLL!**

**Might even get to Post-Fall by the end of the week at this rate.**

**Wish me luck!**

**DISCLAIMER: I only own Em. And a few of her lines. BBC owns the rest. D*mn BBC...**

* * *

Emelia saw John enter first, mainly because she was watching the door and Sherlock was sulking (still in his sheet).  
John made a gesture that asked what they were doing in Buckingham Palace and Emelia shrugged.  
John nodded and sat on one of the two fancy couches, so that the three of them was on one couch. It was completely silent as John looked over at Sherlock.  
"Are you wearing any pants?" he asked, face completely emotionless.  
"No," Sherlock responded.  
"Okay."  
Then John looked at Sherlock and the trio's façade crumbled as they dissolved into laughter.  
"In Buckingham Palace." John laughed some more.  
"I am seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ash tray," Emelia admitted with a smile.  
After some more laughing John asked the question that had been on all their minds. "What are we doing here, I mean seriously, what?"  
"I don't know," the Detective answered.  
"Here to see the queen?" Emelia guessed.  
A man walked in to the room as Sherlock answered "Apparently so."  
"Just once, can you two behave like grown ups?" The man asked with an annoyed tone. He wore an expensively tailored suit.  
"We solve crimes, John blogs about it, and he forgets his pants," Emelia reasoned, nodding to Sherlock at the pants bit, "I wouldn't hold up too much hope."  
"And who are you?" The man asked.  
Emelia stood and held out her hand, managing to look remarkably businesslike, despite her fathers' laughter. "Emelia Genevieve Holmes-Watson, amature photographer and assistant to Sherlock Holmes. And you are, sir?"  
"Mycroft Holmes, your apparent uncle."  
Emelia turned to Sherlock, "I have an Uncle?"  
"Did I forget to mention that? Why are we here? I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft."  
"What? The hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious really."  
"Transparent," agreed Sherlock. John and Emelia exchanged confused looks.  
"Time to move on then," Mycroft declared. He picked up Sherlock's clothes and attempted to hand them to his brother, who made no move to receive them. "We are in Buckingham Palace, now the very heart of the British Nation. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on." Emelia guessed that the powerful tone Sherlock often used when giving commands was a family trait.  
"What for?"  
"Your client."  
"And my client is?" prompted the younger Holmes, standing up to match his brother's height.  
"Illustrious," a new man answered for Mycroft, "in the extreme. And remaining, I have to inform you, entirely anonymous." He turned to Mycroft warmly, the other doing the same, exchanging names and a handshake.  
"May I just apologize for the state of my little brother," Mycroft stated.  
"Full time occupation," Harry mumbled, "And this must be Dr. John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."  
"Hello," said John, "yes."  
"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog."  
"Your employer?" Emelia questioned. "Oh Pardon me, sir, Emelia Holmes-Watson, pleased to meet you."  
"Ah yes, the photographer. Yes, John, my employer particularly enjoyed the one about the adiminum crutch."  
John sent Sherlock a look that said "Told ya so."  
"And Mr. Homes the younger. You look taller in your photographs."  
"I take the precaution of a good coat and a small friend. Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases, both ends is too much work. Good Morning." Sherlock stood and made for the exit, leaving his family standing confusedly behind him.  
It would have went better is Mycroft hadn't stepped on the sheet. It fell to Sherlock's waist, the frantic action of collecting said sheet drew everyone's attention, except for Emelia. She was pointedly looking anywhere but her father, a blush apparent on her cheeks.  
"This is a matter of national importance," Mycroft growled. "Grow up."  
"Get off my sheet," Sherlock growled back.  
"Or what?"  
"Or I'll just walk away."  
"I'll let you."  
"Boys," John warned,"please, not here."  
"Who is my client," Sherlock strangled out.  
"Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land, now for God's sake put your clothes on," Mycroft responded tersely, clearly losing his patience with his younger brother.  
Sherlock looked ready to argue.  
"Sherlock, put your clothes on or I...I'll hide all your bunsen burners and petri dishes!" Emelia shouted.

* * *

Emelia smiled at the elder men as they spoke. It seemed as if Sherlock and Emelia had switched demeanors, the girl becoming like an adult and Sherlock like a child (complete with sulk). She ignored Sherlock as he made some comment about he and Mycroft's childhood.  
"So," she said,"shall we get on then? I do believe my father is getting anxious."  
"My employer has a problem," Harry explained.  
"A matter has come to light, of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, dear brother," The sarcasm of Mycroft's voice vas obvious, "your name has arisen."  
"Why? You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally secret service. Why come to me?" Sherlock questioned.  
"You can not insult the Yard for one day can you?" Emelia sighed.  
"People come to you for help. don't they Mr. Holmes.?"  
Sherlock hummed positively. "Not to date, anyone with a navy."  
"This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore of trust."  
"You don't trust your own secret service?" John stated questioningly.  
"Naturally not." Mycroft replied.  
"They all spy on people for money, why would you?" Emelia commented.  
"I do think we have a timetable," Harry reminded Mycroft.  
"Yes, of course." Mycroft opened a briefcase and pulled out pictures, "What do you know about this woman?"  
Sherlock took them. "Nothing whatsoever."  
"Then you should be paying more attention. She's been at the center of 2 political scandals in the last year, and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist, by having an affair with both participants...seprately," Mycroft explained.  
"You know I don't concern myself with trivia. Who is she?"  
"Irene Adler." Emelia's head snapped towards the pictures but none of the men noticed. Mycroft continued, "Professionally known as The Woman."  
"Professionally?" asked John, still clueless to Emelia's now rapid sortment of the pictures.  
"There are many words for what she does. She prefers Dominatrix."  
"Dominatrix," Sherlock repeated.  
"Don't be alarmed," Mycroft warned," It has to do with sex."  
"Sex doesn't alarm me."  
"How would you know?" Mycroft laughed. He continued, "She provides recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it. These are all from her website." Mycroft handed Sherlock more photographs.  
"And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs." Sherlock said after he finished looking through the pictures.  
"Very quick Mr. Holmes," Harry complemented.  
"Hardly a difficult deduction," Emelia quipped, stealing the photos from Sherlock, "Photographs of whom?"  
"A person of significance to my employer. We would prefer not to say anymore at this time."  
"You can't tell us anything?" John was skeptical.  
"I can tell you it's a young person," Mycroft began, "A young female person."  
There was a tense silence.  
"How many photographs?" Sherlock asked.  
"A considerable number apparently."  
"So you have no idea." Emelia clarified.  
"Do miss Adler and this young female appear in these photographs together?" Sherlock was in interrigation mode.  
"Yes." Mycroft said sharply.  
"And I assume in a number of comprimising scenarios."  
"An imaginative range, we are assured."  
"John, you might want to put that cup back in it's sauser now."  
"Can you help us Mr. Holmes?" Harry asked.  
"How?" the man countered.  
"You take the case."  
"What case? Pay her. Now and in full. As Miss Adler marks in her mastered, know when you are beaten." Emelia rolled her eyes with the grown-ups' stupidity. Sherlock grabbed his coat.  
"She doesn't want anything." Mycroft announced. "She got in touch, informed us that the photographs existed. She indicated she had no intention of using them to extorrt money or favor. "  
"Oh, a power play," Sherlock remarked, now looking interested, "A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a Dominatrix. Ooh. This is getting rather fun isn't it."  
"Sherlock," John warned.  
"Hmm. Where is she?"  
"I believe London, currently. She is staying-"  
"Text me the details.I'll be in touch by the end of the day." Sherlock gathered his coat and the Doctor and the Photographer had no choice but to follow.  
"You really think you'll have news by then?" Harry seemed to be in disbelief.  
"No I think I'll have the photographs," Sherlock replied.  
"Well I can only hope that you're as good as you seem to think."  
Sherlock got the deducting face again and then announced, "I'll need some equiptment of course."  
"Anything you require, I'll have it sent to the-" Mycroft was again cut off by his younger brother.  
"Can I have a box of matches?"  
"I'm sorry." Harry said.  
"Or your cigarette lighter, either will do."  
"I don't smoke," Harry stated.  
"No, I know you don't but your employer does."  
"We have kept a lot of people in the dark about this little fact, Mr. Holmes."  
"I'm not the common mirth." Sherlock took the lighter and made to leave.  
"And that's as modest as he gets. Pleasure to meet you." John said as he followed.  
"Indeed," Emelia added, following John out," See you at Thanksgiving, uncle Mycroft, ya?"  
"Laters!" Sherlock yelled over his shoulder.

* * *

In the cab back to Baker Street, John asked, "Okay, the smoking. How did you know?"  
Sherlock's lips curved into a smile, as did Emelia's. "The evidince was right under your nose John, as ever you see but do not observe."  
"Observe what?"  
"An ashtray." Emelia stated as her partner-in-crime withdrew the crystal piece from his coat. Sherlock flipped it over twice then deposited it back into his hiding place.  
The small family laughed together over the triumph.

* * *

**No new reviews. Please review my writing.**


	5. The Dominatrixes (Or Dominatrixi?)

**Hay all~~~! It's me. And I has another chapter.**

**WARNING: I may have killed my beta with feels .-.**

**WOOOPS!**

**Anyway- here has feels. *gives away buckets of feels***

**DISCLAIMER:**** BBC owns all but Em. And that feels-heavy part at the back. And anything that has to with Em's past.**

* * *

Back at the flat, Emelia sat in one of the chairs, across from John. She had one knee on the seat, a large book propped up on it. The marker scribbled on the front of the book proclaimed it to be "John Watson's Encyclopedia of Medical Terms". Sherlock was tossing shirts and jackets out of his room.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

"Reading an encyclopedia," Emelia replied.

"Going to battle Jawn. I need the right armor." Sherlock replied, stepping out of the room in a fireman's jacket. "Nope." He dove back into his room.

John turned his attention back to their 15-year old. "Why? Don't you have some teen romance novel you could read?"

She rolled her eyes at John. "I hardly have any want to read a sappy, pointless love story John. I need something with more fact and less emotion. Your encyclopedia will do nicely."

Twenty minutes later, the Holmes-Watsons sat squished into a cab.

"So what's the plan?" Em asked.

"We go to her address." Sherlock replied.

"So we just ring the doorbell?"

"Exactly," Sherlock spoke to the cabbie, "Just here please."

"You didn't even change your clothes," John remarked.

"Then it's time to add a splash of color."

Sherlock walked down an ally, his blonde companions following him.

"We're here?" John asked.

"Two streets away, but this'll do." Sherlock had removed his scarf.

"For what?

"Punch me in the face."

"Punch you?" Emelia clarified.

"Yes. Punch me. In the face. Didn't you hear me?"

"I always hear punch me in the face when you're speaking but it's usually subtext."

Sherlock angered by John's slowness, muttered, "Oh for God's sake," and punched John.

John punched Sherlock back, while Emelia watched the unfolding fight in horror. After Sherlock recovered from the punch however, she was shocked to see John tackle the taller man to the ground.

"John!" She cried out in alarm.

"Okay, I think we're done now, Jawn!" Sherlock called as John attempted to strangle him. Emelia rushed to pull her fathers apart.

"You don't remember Sherlock, I was a soldier," John choked out," I killed people."

"You were a doctor!" Emelia cried.

"I had bad days!"

Emelia, desperate to save Sherlock, grabbed a fistful of John's hair and pulled. The sudden pain made John loosen his hold, and Sherlock escaped. "Must have been hell," Emelia commented.

* * *

Sherlock rang the doorbell and gave his prepared speech, proving himself to be a marvelous actor. "I'm sorry to disturb you," he said, tripping over the carefully selected words, "I'm... I've just been attacked. And... And... And I think they took my wallet. And... And... And my phone. And please could you help me?" he finished with a begging voice.

"I could call the police if you want," the receptionist offered.

"Thank you, could you please? Ah... would you... would you mind if I just waited here? Just until they come. Thank you, thank you so much."

The door buzzed open and Sherlock entered, followed by John and Emelia. The receptionist, Kate, recognized Emelia because her eyes lit up. Emelia lifted one finger to her mouth and winked. Kate gave an almost unperceivable nod.

John gave his cover story, "I... I saw it all happen. It's okay I'm a doctor. Have you got a first aid kit?"

"In the kitchen."

John went to retrieve it and Kate led the Holmeses to all white sitting rooms. Once free of Kate, Sherlock dropped his act. He sat closer to the door, effectively hiding Emelia from the sight of anyone who wasn't in the room.

"I'm sorry to hear you've been hurt," A new voice said, "I don't think Kate caught your name."

Sherlock turned to the new voice, facade back up, clearly ignorant to the girl next to him trying to mold into the couch, despite her dark clothes. "I'm so sorry, I'm..." He lost his voice as he looked to the nude woman in the doorway.

"Ah, it's always hard to remember an alias when you've had a fright," the woman remarked, coming towards Sherlock and Emelia, "Isn't it? There now," she comforted, without sounding comforting at all. She took part of Sherlock's "disguise" and pulled it off, "Now we're both defrocked. Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"Miss Adler, I presume?"

"Look at those cheekbones. I could cut myself slapping that face. Would you like me to try?"

Only then did the woman notice Emelia. "Emelia?" She questioned.

"Hello, Miss Adler."

Then John walked in with water and a rag, drawing the attention of all. "Right, this'll do it..." He noticed Irene, "I've missed something, haven't I?"

Irene turned on the charm. "Please, sit down. Or if you'd like some tea I can call the maid."

"I had some at the Palace," Sherlock told her.

"I know."

"Clearly."

"I had a tea too. At the Palace. If anyone was interested," John interjected.

"Of course, John. I was interested," Emelia smiled at her father sensing his unease about this naked woman attempting to steal his detective.

Sherlock got that deducing face as her looked at Irene. His brow creased and he looked at John. The brow uncreased. He looked to Irene. Creased brow.

"Do you know the big problem with a disguise Mr. Holmes? However hard you tried, it's always a self-portrait."

"You think I'm vicar with a bleeding face."

"Damn near delusional and believe in a higher power."

"In his case, it's himself," Emelia piped up. Sherlock glared at her.

"Somebody loves you, "Irene commented, leaning closer to Sherlock's face. John's eyes shot to Sherlock an Emelia's shot to John for just a moment.

"If I had to punch that face, I'd avoiding your nose and teeth too." Irene looked at John.

Emelia and John laughed awkwardly. "Could you put something on please?" Emelia asked.

"Anything at all. Napkin, even?" John followed up.

"Why?"

"Miss Adler, please," Emelia begged.

"Now Emelia, have you forgotten all I've taught you?"

"Taught her?" John and Sherlock asked at the same time.

Emelia ignored them and reached over Sherlock to grab his coat. She tossed the article haphazardly at Irene. "Coat on. Now," she commanded.

Irene smiled and Emelia smiled back. Irene shrugged the coat on and opened her arms to Em. Emelia climbed into the woman's lap and curled up there, facing her fathers and holding onto the coat for dear life.

"That's my little Dominatrix," Irene cooed, petting the smaller girl's hair.

John took a seat next to Sherlock. "Would someone explain to me what is going on here?'

Emelia sat up straighter in Irene's lap and took a deep breath. "Irene was my... mentor at the orphanage."

"Oh yes, I taught young girls how to hold their own in a male-dominated society. And how to use that weakness to their advantage," Irene added.

"Reney, please. They should hear it from me."

"Oh. Sorry love."

"Anyways, Irene took me on when I was young, about eight or so. She mentored me in how to use my... assets... to gain what I wanted. We started stealing candy bars and gum. But when I let her company, I had talked men into giving me cash, a credit card, multitudes of free coffees, 12 movie tickets and a car."

John nearly had a stroke. "You stole a CAR?"

"No, John. The dealership man bought it for me. I left because Irene had deemed me ready. I had told her that boys were icky, so she didn't teach me the more... effective... means."

"And you never did pay me a visit, Em. Not even a call."

"I was busy."

"Clearly. How did you get to know Sherlock?"

"He and John adopted me."

Sherlock's eye twitched. "You knew Irene. And you didn't tell us?"

"Sherlock," John warned, "Not here. Not now."

"Nice to meet you Miss Adler," Sherlock said, standing. He went to leave. "John and I will return shortly. John. Emelia," he called.

Emelia kissed Irene on the cheek as the woman placed something in her coat pocket and followed her parents out.

John separated Em from her taller father in the cab.

Sherlock was quiet until they stepped over the threshold of 221B.

"You KNEW her?" he exploded at their daughter. "You KNEW her and you KEPT that from us? FROM ME? I MADE JOHN PUNCH ME AND YOU COULD HAVE HAD US IN WITH A SMILE AND A WINK!"

"Sherlock!" John chastened.

"I'm sorry, "their daughter whimpered, "I... It slipped my mind?"

"Slipped your mind? SLIPPED YOUR MIND?"

"I... I didn't say anything because I forgot after we left the Palace and I didn't say anything in front Uncle Mycroft because..." She hesitated, the whispered, "because I wanted a Christmas present."

"A CHISTMAS PRESENT? YOU KEPT VALUABLE INFORMATION FROM ME BECAUSE YOU WANTED A CHRISTMAS PRESENT?"

"SHERLOCK!" John shouted.

Emelia broke. The tears that were waiting spilled over and she ran out the door, slamming both the flat door and the outside door.

John stared at his flat mate. "Sherlock... what have you done?"

"She could have gotten us in without you punching me."

"YOU REDUCED HER TO TEARS!"

"SHE DESERVED IT!"

"SHE IS 15, SHERLOCK!'

"So?"

"SO? SO SHE HASNT HAD A FAMILY FOR 12 YEARS. 12 YEARS, SHERLOCK! I KNOW YOU AND MYCROFT DON'T GET ALONG BUT AT LEAST YOU KNOW THAT YOUR PARENTS ARE ALIVE. SHE DOESN'T EVEN HAVE THAT! THIS IS THE FIRST FAMILY SHE'S HAD IN 12 YEARS AND YOU YELL AT HER FOR NOT GIVING YOU INFORMATION? WE GOT IN! WHO CARES IF WE DAMAGED YOUR GOD D AMN FACE? SHE DID HER WAITING! 12 YEARS OF IT! IN ASKABAN!" John sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He closed his eyes then opened them to a confused Sherlock.

"12 years? Askaban?" the dark-haired man asked.

"Yes, Sherlock. 12 years. In Askaban, the orphanage she came from. You'd know that if you had read her file. But that's deletable, isn't it? Can you blame the girl for wanting to make sure she has a family by Christmas? Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find our daughter. You, Sherlock Holmes, have failed the first rule of parenting."

"Which is?"

"Family always comes first." And with that, John slammed 221B's door slam and headed out to find her.

* * *

After checking all the restaurants she had gone to with them, John checked the coffee shop he had taken her to once. She was there, sitting in the back corner, looking into a cup with teary eyes.

"Hey," John said, sliding into the chair opposite her.

"Hi." Her voice was cracked and raw.

"I'm sorry about him."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." She started to cry again.

"Oh, Em. Don't cry," John reached over and placed his hand over hers.

"I... I just... 12 years, John."

"I know, Emelia. I know."

"I'm sorry that I broke your family."

"Oh Em... "John scooted over to the next chair and wrapped it around his daughter. "It was broken long before you got there."

She sniffled. "John?"

"Hmm?"

"Where are we going to go?"

"Let's give Mycroft a call, shall we?"

* * *

John -SH

I'm sorry -SH

Please come home -SH

I'll apologize to Emelia -SH

You haven't learned why you're wrong yet -JW

Not coming home until you do -JW

John, I'm sorry -SH

We don't believe you yet -JW

* * *

John tucked his daughter in to Mycroft's guest bed. The elder Holmes had been a bit surprised but welcomed them eagerly. When Emelia had insisted he tuck her in, he had smiled.

He knew her Holmes switch.

He had figured it out that when Sherlock was threatened, he was a $$.

When Mycroft was threatened, he twirled his umbrella handle and took control.

When Emelia was threatened, she needed the comfort of childish things. She must have grown up quickly.

Emelia yawned and snuggled deep into the bed. "'Night, John."

He kissed her on the forehead. "Goodnight, Emelia."

"John?" She yawned.

"Yes?"

"Can you... can you sleep here? With me? Please?"

"Yeah."

He crawled in with the girl, who had a good two inches on him. She wrapped her thin arms around his middle and laid her head on his chest. John noticed how quickly her breathing slowed, only about two minutes. He followed into sleep moment later.

* * *

**So yea. If you're dying (or not), please review.**

**IamyourJohntoyourSherlock : If, I didn't clarify enough in the chapter, Emelia is 15. And has been an orphan for 12 years. {(I DID MY WAITING! 12 YEARS OF IT! IN ASKABAN!) Sorry about the HP refrence, I couldn't help it :)} Her bipolar-child/adult thing is what I call a "Holmes quirk". Her childish side is her "Holmes switch", as I explained earlier, in that fluffy scene up there. She sometimes is more grown-up than Sherlock, which I love, because it shows how she can be so... kid-ish, then assume resposibility for her childish father. {Wow, this is a long review reply, sorrry!} SO yeah. Em is 15, Holmes key, Holmes switch, blah, blah, blah...**

**~TwoMoon'sLite~**


	6. The Detective's Redeem

**Dunno if this chapter title makes sense but yea...**

**Sherlock will redeem himself and lots of funny to be had. John is confused.**

**Also, this is a very fluffly chapter.**

**So enjoy da fluff!**

**DISCLAIMER****:**** BBc owns John, Sherlock, Mycroft and 221B. The idea for this is all mine. And Emelia is mine too.**

* * *

Sherlock looked at his phone for the 6th time. The message was still there.

_We're coming home. Put the kettle on -JW_

He watched the door. He jumped up when he saw the doorknob turn ten minutes later.

John stepped through the door, followed by Emelia. The teen took one look at Sherlock and ran to her bedroom, closing the door loudly. John turned to Sherlock.

"Well?"

"I'm sorry John."

"And?"

"I'm going to apologize to Emelia while you make tea."

"Be nice. She had a rough day at school."

Sherlock nodded and knocked carefully on the door. He opened it a crack. Emelia was lying in the middle of the bed, facedown, her blonde waves spread out around her head. She had John's encyclopedia and Sherlock's dictionary next to her.

"What?" She snapped.

"Emelia, I'm sorry."

"John said you have a heart, it's just buried deep under layers of ice, rudeness and jerkiness," she looked at the pale man in the doorway. "Is he right?"

"I suppose so."

"How don't you know?"

"I rarely have reason to use it."

"Oh."

"Emelia, I am truly sorry. I... I don't know how my words affect people sometimes. I forget that not everyone is as smart as me."

"Don't get cocky, you were doing well."

"I'm sorry Emelia."

"I forgive you. Now get out."

Sherlock looked to the kitchen. John was watching him with a small smile and a cup of tea. "Should we... hug or something?" he asked his daughter.

"Sherlock. Unless you want this encyclopedia thrown at you, I suggest you f*ck off."

Sherlock didn't move. John then saw a large book come flying out of the room, followed by a triumphant Sherlock.

"Ha! Missed m-" He didn't get to finish, as he was hit in the face by a dictionary. "Ow."

John laughed. "Go get some ice, you wanker."

He picked his encyclopedia and riffled through it. He saw a spot of yellow on one of the pages and looked closer. Someone had highlighted the word PMS. On a hunch, John pulled open the dictionary. He saw exactly what he thought he would. The definition for Period, the health definition, had been highlighted. John laughed heartily, earning a glare from Sherlock.

John looked at the detective and laughed more. He had a black eye from the dictionary and the glare was not working because of it.

"What are you laughing at?" Sherlock spat.

"She's PMSing." John laughed.

"What?"

"Oh right you must have deleted that. She's on her period, Sherlock."

"Oh."

"Yeah," he patted his friend's back, "maybe you should just stay away from her 'till then, mate."

Sherlock looked deep in thought, so John went and watched crap telly. Sherlock joined him after an hour, reading John's medical encyclopedia.

* * *

The next morning, Emelia grunted at Sherlock, who was lying on the sofa.

"John's at work. He'll be back for dinner."

She grunted in response and headed for the shower.

Twenty minutes she found a spot had been cleared at the table. It held toast with jam, a glass of water, and... a container of Midol?

Emelia looked skeptically at her father. "Did you...?"

"Make breakfast? Yes."

"It's not burnt."

"I can make toast Emelia. Take your Midol and go to school."

She did as she was told. She took the rest of the container and a piece of toast too. She set the other piece in front of Sherlock. He took it up wordlessly and took a bite. Emelia smiled at the small victory and went to school.

* * *

School was hell. Emelia came home in tears and Sherlock watched her as she walked to her room. The door closed and he heard the thud of her schoolbag on the floor, the squeak of the bedsprings as she flopped down on it. He stopped his experiment.

Emelia cracked an eye as the door creaked open. Sherlock held a glass of water for her. She sat up and pointed to her bag. "Front pocket."

Sherlock handed her the water, and dug out the Midol. He shook out two pills and handed them to his daughter.

She swallowed them and downed the glass of water as well. "How did you know I had a migraine?"

"I researched. Then deduced."

"Oh."

Sherlock placed a hand on his daughter's back. "What happened?"

She shrugged.

"Emelia."

"They make fun of me, you know. For having two dads."

"They're stupid ignore them."

"They do it every day, Sherlock. The names are the worst part," She said, exasperated.

"Names?"

"Queer girl. Lesbian. Fag dad girl. They assume because you're with John that all of us are gay."

Sherlock had no words. He only pulled Emelia into a hug, surprising her.

He held her until she fell asleep.

* * *

John came home to Sherlock and Emelia cooking. "What are you doing?"

"Cooking, John!" Emelia exclaimed excitedly.

John raised an eyebrow to Sherlock, who ignored him.

John was surprised when the food wasn't burnt. He was also surprised when it tasted good. Excellent, actually! "This is great!"

"Thank you John." Sherlock was actually eating.

"How long have you known how to cook?"

Sherlock shrugged. "A while."

The rest of dinner passed rather uneventfully. When John asked Emelia about school, she looked at Sherlock and replied, "Dull."

After dinner, they discussed a case. Well, Sherlock and Emelia did. Sherlock was frowning at Sherlock. Something was not right.

Emelia stretched. "Well, g'night." She hugged John and Sherlock. "Love you."

John looked at her. Sherlock asked, "What?"

The teen rushed to cover her tracks. "I... um... I've heard other kids say it to their parents?"

John smiled at her. "Night, Em. Love you too."

"Goodnight Emelia."

* * *

Two days later, John came home to a different anomaly. Sherlock, asleep, next to Emelia, also asleep.

He guessed they must have been reading, because Sherlock's hand was on his cheek and there was a book upside down on the floor. Emelia had her head in the detective's lap, one arm thrown over his long legs.

John smiled and prepared dinner.

Emelia woke first. "John?"

"Afternoon, sleepyhead."

She layed her head back and groaned. "Sherlock, we fell asleep."

Sherlock fluttered open his eyes. He saw John and dinner. "So we did."

Dinner was again uneventful.

When she went to bed, Emelia hugged John first, pecking a kiss to his cheek. "Night John. Love you."

"Night, Em."

She went over to the desk and hugged Sherlock. She pecked his cheek as well and mumbled, " Night Sherlock, love you." She walked to her room but freezed halfway there.

She looked back to Sherlock as did John.

"Sherlock," John started, "did you just tell Emelia you loved her?"

"It's something parents say to their children, isn't it?"

Emelia broke out into a smile and closed her door softly.

"So you do have a heart."

"Of course John. Why else would you still be here?"

"What?"

"John, if I didn't have a heart, I wouldn't have rescued you from Moriarty at the pool."

John nodded. "I just didn't think you could use it."

"Again, John, you're still here."

* * *

The next night, Sherlock surprised the two blondes again.

He returned Emelia's kiss. He had turned his head, eyes never leaving his experiment, and kissed her cheek.

John had smiled at him.

Sherlock had rolled his eyes.

* * *

John considered the evidence.

-Sherlock could cook

-Sherlock had stashes of Midol in the cabinet

-He had brought milk and jam

-Sherlock said I love you

Sherlock kissed someone

He looked at his flat mate. Emelia was at school, and he didn't go in until later.

Sherlock answered his question before he asked it. "John, she's our daughter. How can I not like her?"

John just smiled. He was so happy he didn't hear Sherlock's last comment.

"How can I not like you?"

* * *

**No new reviews. Very disappointed. Has no one been reading this?**

**~TwoMoon'sLite~**


	7. A Note To Readers

**Hello everyone. This is your ever-present author, TwoMoon'sLite. This is my note.**

**JKJKJKJK . seriously though, I am writing a note. Just not _that_ kind.**

**I regret to inform you that I will be discontinuing to write The Schematics of Fatherhood, no further chapters will be posted.**

***cries***

**On a totally related note, I will be re-making and re-branding this story, making Emelia all the more BA, Sherlock less OOC, and fixing that issue IamyourJohntoyourSherlock brought up after the posting of the first chapter.**

**The new story will be called Dark Angel, and it will be rated M, because John and Emelia each have mouths that would make a sailor blush. It will be full of angst, plot twists, and disguises. I look forward to writing it.**

**I expect reviews! From the 40 people I _know_ are reading this story.**

**Until next time (which will be very soon, promise!), this is TwoMoon'sLite signing off!**

**Adios! Avitezen! Goodbye!**


	8. THE LAST SCHEMATICS THING EVAH

**Hello lovelies.**

**This is, as the name suggests the LAST THING EVAH for Schematics. It is now properly revamped as Dark Angel. Although, I have a job for y'all. **

**As a send off to this story, please comment/PM me with any story bits you wish to see appear in DA. **

**Just a note, this is my plan for what will happen with DA, multi-story wise:**

** -Finish DA all the way through to a brilliant Post-Riech reunion**

** -Write another ending to DA, where there is lots of happy.**

** -Write companion fic of poetry "written" by Emelia**

** -Write a story entirely based on Emelia's past, including her ma and dad's deaths. (this may or may not happen, because her da is rarely there but hey! Why not?)**

**So there ya are. Again, please do comment/review or PM me with moments you want to see in Dark Angel.**

**Ta and love you!**


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